James Wesley returned home, loosened his tie, took off his suit, and prepared to rest as usual.
"Good evening, Mr. Wesley."
A hoarse voice rang out from the living room. Wesley, who had taken a bottle of milk from the refrigerator, shuddered before quickly regaining his composure.
"I advise you not to reach for a gun or try to resist, Mr. Wesley. You're not good at that." The voice seemed to know exactly what he was about to do.
"Come sit at the table. Let's talk face-to-face. That's why I came to visit you." After a brief moment of thought, Wesley decided to comply. He was a smart man and had always known how to protect himself.
"Who are you?" The refined young man in gold-rimmed glasses hesitated before asking the somewhat clichéd question.
"That isn't important." The figure seated in the darkness spoke as a pistol gleaming with cold light extended from the shadows, aimed at Wesley, who was doing his best to remain calm. "Who you are is what matters."
"Mr. Wesley, at twenty-eight, you bought a duplex apartment in Manhattan's affluent district. You wear a limited-edition Piaget watch and tailored Italian suits, while owning three properties each in Long Island and Brooklyn. Frankly, considering your age and salary, none of this seems quite reasonable. You came from an ordinary working-class family in Hell's Kitchen, relying on scholarships and the support of kind-hearted people to complete your education. After graduation, you became a manager at a trading company. Forgive my bluntness, but with your income, even buying this apartment would have been a struggle."
As his information was revealed bit by bit, Wesley could not help feeling alarmed. The other man had investigated him thoroughly, missing not even the smallest details.
Looking at the gun extending from the shadows and the figure hidden in the darkness, Wesley began to panic. He had no idea what this inexplicable intruder wanted from him.
"Quite surprisingly, you attended Stanford University and were an outstanding young law graduate. The kind-hearted man who funded your education was none other than Wilson Fisk, Hell's Kitchen's famed real estate tycoon. But he had another, far more frightening name: Kingpin."
"You came for Mr. Wilson? Who sent you? The Russian Mafia, the Japanese Hand, or the Mexican Drug Cartel?" Wesley's mind raced as he named several other criminal factions in Hell's Kitchen.
"Wow, Kingpin really has quite a few enemies. I told you already, you don't need to know who I am. I came here to discuss a deal." A figure emerged from the darkness, his face obscured beneath a hood.
Wesley leaned forward slightly, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, and said, "You want me to betray Mr. Wilson?"
This elite law school graduate had a quick and flexible mind. He knew he possessed nothing worth anyone's attention; only the Black Emperor who ruled New York's underworld could possibly be someone else's target.
"Bingo!" The figure in the darkness snapped his fingers and said casually, "Not betrayal. No one dared ignore Kingpin's fearsome reputation. Most people who crossed him ended up at the bottom of the Hudson River. As Kingpin's personal assistant, Mr. Wesley, you should understand that better than I do."
"Then what exactly do you want? I'm just a nobody." Wesley was confused by the other man's words.
The hooded figure chuckled softly and placed the pistol in the middle of the table, as though he had no fear that Wesley might seize the weapon.
"I have my eye on Kingpin's businesses—his legitimate businesses, of course. Hell's Kitchen is a chaotic place. Kingpin established his iron rule through violence and bloodshed, but the Russian Mafia and the Japanese Hand have always wanted to reclaim their territory. A war will soon erupt here."
The hooded figure looked at the frowning Wesley and said, "I want to kick all of them out of the game, Kingpin included!"
Wesley stared in stunned disbelief. He almost thought he had encountered a lunatic. Eliminate Kingpin and every criminal force in Hell's Kitchen?
Even the entire New York Police Department could not accomplish that. Kingpin alone had thousands upon thousands of thugs and villains willing to die for him. If the Black Emperor said he wanted someone to disappear from New York, that person's corpse would be thrown into the Hudson River that very night.
"You must think I'm joking right now. Maybe you even see me as some madman spouting nonsense." The figure seemed to have guessed Wesley's thoughts and continued, "I don't need you to believe me. I don't even need you to make any promises."
"I came to see you today and have this conversation only to let you know one thing, Mr. Wesley."
The figure paused, then said, "Tomorrow night, Kingpin will die. His capable enforcer, Bullseye, will not escape either."
The words struck Wesley like a bolt from the blue. His mind seemed to crash, and even his ability to think stalled for a moment.
This madman was going to kill Kingpin and Bullseye?!
"Once those two are dead, you, James Wesley, Kingpin's personal assistant and the man who manages his criminal empire, will become one of the most powerful people in Hell's Kitchen."
Ignoring Wesley's shock, the hooded figure calmly laid out his plan. "Mr. Leland, Kingpin's financial expert, holds a position equal to yours—if he is willing to cooperate. Afterward, you will take over Kingpin's businesses as quickly as possible. As for the illegal operations, I believe the Russian Mafia, the Japanese Hand, and those Mexican drug dealers will be interested."
"What you need to do is clean up your image as quickly as possible, package yourself as a legitimate businessman and Hell's Kitchen's young rising star, then invest in a genetic biologist named Curt Connors and provide him with research funding."
Wesley's mouth fell open as he stared blankly at the figure in the darkness. I really did run into a complete lunatic. The man was openly telling him how he intended to seize the businesses and territory of New York's Black Emperor. Was he not afraid Wesley would tell Kingpin?
"You are a smart man. I appreciate that you did not try to take the gun on the table. Otherwise, you would be going to see God right now."
The other man spoke calmly, but a faint chill lingered in his tone, making Wesley shudder.
"Of course, you can also tell Kingpin that a madman intends to kill him tomorrow and take everything he has."
The figure always seemed able to guess Wesley's thoughts, as though he could read his mind. It made Wesley feel completely seen through, as if he had no secrets left at all.
"...However, a smart and capable man is never willing to remain beneath someone else. You should not be merely a mob boss's personal assistant, Mr. Wesley. You could have a far broader future—if you are truly smart enough!"
The figure slowly retreated into the darkness. After a while, silence returned to the room, and no further sound could be heard, as though everything that had just happened had been nothing more than Wesley's illusion.
The Black Emperor's personal assistant looked at the pistol on the table, complicated emotions swirling in his eyes.
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